The Cure
by CrystalGlacier
Summary: A REXHG crossover. When Wesker injected himself with that virus all those years ago, he had no idea of its nasty side-effects. He seeks a cure in the mysterious Azoth, while Fiona, the woman granted with it wants nothing but to escape...
1. Chapter One: Unlabeled

**AN: Gah, I'm stupid. Starting a new fic while I'm already writing one? Someone give me a cookie. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil or Haunting Ground. Which is really sad.**

* * *

The black soles of expensive, European shoes made gentle thuds as they met the polished floor, the owner walking in a slow and controlled manner. His pitch-black attire was a screaming contrast to his deathly pale, almost transparent skin and the sterile, white walls in the hallway. A young woman wearing a lab coat stepped out of the elevator he was heading towards, her body stiffening into a violent twitch upon seeing him. He strode past her without even the slightest hint of acknowledgment of her presence. He could feel her large, terrified gaze in his neck which was swiftly broken the second he turned on his heels inside the elevator. She clutched her documents tightly and hurried away, switching simultaneously between walking and running. His gloved finger pushed the button to the third floor.

Once the doors closed shut in front of him, Albert Wesker adjusted his sunglasses and allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch into an inconspicuous smirk. There were plenty of rumors whispered about him in hidden corners within the walls of this compound. His sharpened sense of hearing had caught more than a few conversations between the workers, too often revolving around him. One man had claimed the reason of Wesker's insistent use of sunglasses at all times was because he apparently was able to kill people with a mere glance of his eyes. This had amused Wesker to such an extent that he for a brief moment considered to seek out the man and allow him a glint of his red irises. But that thought had been swiftly waved away as that tragic creature of a human being was nowhere near worthy of such a sight. Wesker slid his hand slowly through his hair and cocked his head slightly upon seeing numerous matt, dirty blonde strands attached to the palm of his glove. He swiftly wiped his hand off on his suit pants and kept his gaze straight forward, not wanting to scrutinize the loose hair any longer.

"_Floor: three. Bio labs,"_ the female computer voice informed coldly. Wesker stepped out of the elevator, passing a couple of elderly scientists who reacted the same way as the young woman. He raised a brow in amusement. Surely he wasn't _that_ intimidating? Perhaps his interesting reputation caused this overwhelming distress among the workers every time they entered his presence. Which he thought was to the better, although he was starting to get annoyed at being treated like a deadly, highly contagious disease. Wesker walked calmly through the labyrinth of hallways that anyone else would have needed a GPS device to navigate through, but he had etched every square meter of this compound into his memory permitting him to always find his desired destination, which at this point was the office of the somewhat bothersome and twitchy Dr. Hamilton. Wesker clenched his fist and knocked it lightly on the office door. The sound of glass shatter ricocheted through the clammy air.

"Aw, blast it!"

"Dr. Hamilton?"

"I-I'm busy!"

Wesker ignored this and opened the door. A thin man in his mid-thirties was crouching down over a broken vase, making a desperate attempt at finding pieces that would fit together. He looked up, all color instantly draining from his hollow face.

"Albert! I-I mean, Captain Wesker! I-I mean, Mr. Wesker! I -"

A swift gesture from Wesker's hand instantly shut him up, demanding all of his attention. Wesker indulged in the pleasant silence for a few moments before speaking.

"What are the results of my tests, doctor?"

Hamilton blinked. "Y-yo-your tests?" he stammered nervously and started fidgeting with his tie. "I don't… the r-results are… uh… th-they are s-somewhat a-ambiguous-"

A new, more irritated gesture made Hamilton close his mouth.

"What are the results… doctor?" Wesker repeated, with an alarming frostiness in his voice. Frightened, Hamilton stepped back. He proceeded to scrutinize his sneakers before collecting enough courage to answer.

"The results… a-are… bad. Sir. T-the virus that was in-injected into you h-has started to break down the DNA-structure in y-your cells."

A clamming silence entered the room. "Go on," Wesker pushed. Hamilton swallowed.

"Well… i-it's breaking down your body cell by cell and when your damaged cells duplicate, t-the copies w-will also be... mutated… and i-if that happens… _when_ that happens, y-you are inevitably g-going to develop multiple types of cancer."

Wesker went quiet for a moment. "How long do I have, doctor?" he asked, sounding unmoved.

"I'd say between n-nine months to two y-years."

Wesker nodded. "Then I suggest you get busy."

Hamilton blinked. "B-busy? With what?"

"With finding a way to stop this from happening, of course. I don't intend to die just yet."

"I… don't think that's possible… sir…"

"Of course it is," Wesker answered coldly. "You just have to find a solution. And soon."

Hamilton stared at him with plea in his weary eyes. "Sir… you can't a-ask me to f-find a cure for cancer within nine months."

"That wasn't a question, it was an order," Wesker spat. "If you value your life as much as I value mine, it would be wise of you to obey it."

With this, Wesker turned on his heel and vanished out of the room, leaving the doctor alone with his thoughts.

* * *

"That is all. Class dismissed."

The suffocating silence in the auditorium immediately exploded in the sound of chairs scraping on the floor and cheerful chatter from bored students. Fiona Belli let out a sigh of relief before stuffing her books into her backpack. It was finally weekend and her parents were coming to pick her up. She was really looking forward to seeing them again, it had been too long since last time they had been together. A strand of thin, blonde hair fell into her blue eyes. Fiona tucked it behind her ear and flung the backpack over her shoulder before heading towards the exit. She smiled of utter satisfaction as she felt the pleasant warmth of the sun caress her pale skin. With light steps, she paced to the student housing area, humming joyfully to herself. When Fiona first had arrived here, she had been in complete awe over the old and amazingly beautiful architecture of this college but now she hardly took any notice of it. She arrived at the entrance, reached out her hand and played with the indentations, stretching out on the entire gate in intricate patterns. With a groan, she used her bodyweight to force the door open. Sometimes she got annoyed at herself for not being into any type of sports, but it was just too boring and tiring and she couldn't think of any situation that she, an average college student, would ever be in need of it. A sudden, laughing flash fled past her and startled her. It was quickly followed by another one.

"Catch me if you can, sucker!"

"You're dead, Jimmy! You hear that? YOU'RE DEAD!"

Fiona smiled and shook her head.

_Boys._

She stepped inside and looked around. There was a gang of girls standing in a wide circle, chatting and giggling cheerfully. One turned her head towards Fiona, eyed her up and down before flashing a brilliant smile and continued talking to the other girls. Fiona raised an eyebrow at this and turned on her heel and up the stairs to her room. She was pondering her parent's plans for this weekend. They had called it a nice surprise, but she had reasons to doubt it was indeed that. They were the sweetest, most lovable people on the planet, but their conception of a nice weekend was never quite at harmony with hers. When she reached the door to her room, she could hear music inside.

_My roommate's inside. I wonder why she wasn't present during the lecture._

The other girl was lying on her bed, lifting her head in an uninterested manner as Fiona entered the room and continued listening to the music.

"Hi, Mindy!" Fiona greeted, having to raise her voice to drown the screaming of the vocalist. "We missed you in class today!"

"Great," she answered, staring at a crack in the ceiling.

Fiona traced her finger along the back of one of her suitcases, which she had made sure to pack the evening before. She glanced at Mindy. "So… I'm going to leave now. For the weekend."

"Have fun," Mindy said and gave her the thumbs-up sign. Fiona sighed and lifted the suitcases.

* * *

Wesker was not feeling very satisfied at the moment. Being in Dr. Hamilton's office two times at the same day was stretching his patience over the limit and his already thinning nerves made him ponder how hard he could punch the younger man without separating him from his pulse.

"What do you want, Hamilton?" Wesker asked in annoyance. "Somehow I doubt you've managed to come up with a cure in forty-five minutes."

"There is no such thing," Hamilton snapped with anger in his voice. "I've told you already."

Wesker took a threatening step towards him, making him notably more amendable. "N-not to say all hope is l-lost," he added quickly. "I-if you would just… have an o-open mind."

Wesker raised a brow. "About what?"

Hamilton sucked in a deep breath. "About Azoth."

Wesker squeezed his eyes shut and sighed.

_Not this again._

"Aren't you a little old for fairy tales, doctor?"

Hamilton clenched his fists and glared defensively at Wesker, although Wesker was clearly able to see this glare as an attempt to cover up his wounded pride. Wesker sighed again.

"Do you have any scientific evidence of the existence of this… Azoth?"

To Wesker's surprise, Hamilton smirked in response and ducked to search for something under his desk. Wesker stretched his neck to see what the younger man was getting. When his head popped up again, Wesker swiftly returned to his common, nonchalant posture. Hamilton lifted a heavy jar up and placed with utter caution on the desk. Wesker's eyes widened at the sight and stepped towards it with his gloved hand reached out. "What is that?"

"That," Hamilton said, with an affectionate pat on the jar's lid, "is a luminescent."

Wesker stared at it in silence. The blue ball of light swayed peacefully inside the jar. It floated towards Hamilton, hindered by the thick glass surrounding it. He grinned.

"Why is it doing that?" Wesker asked, adjusting his shades.

"A luminescent is attracted to Azoth. Every living being has it, although in very small amounts. It seems that I carry more than you."

He paused, waiting for Wesker to say something. When he didn't, Hamilton's smile slowly faded from his face. He cleared his throat and continued; "Azoth i-is the very essence of life. If used properly, it can cu-cure any illness, create new life, and even… grant the user immortality.

Wesker thought about this for a moment. "That sounds wonderful," he said, with a hint of smugness in his voice. "But I could use something a tad more solid than 'essence'."

Hamilton immediately vanished under his desk again. A second later, a pile of old parchments was slammed on the pinewood, sweeping off a porcelain figure of a cat. Hamilton took no notice of it as it was brutally shattered at the floor; his nostrils widened in excitement as he pointed his shivering index finger at the parchments and said; "Read."

Wesker glanced down at them. "I don't understand Italian, doctor."

Hamilton blinked. "You don't? Well…" he took a deep breath and bent over the desk. "Everything about Azoth is explained in details here. Every single thing... is described… by an extremely talented alchemist by the name of Aureolus Belli. Well, at least he was. With alchemy you can convert the essence into power. Power to give you life."

Wesker raised a brow. He had never heard the doctor speak for so long without stammering or looking at his shoes. "To be fairly honest with you, I can't say I believe a single word of it."

Hamilton sighed. "I knew it. You're too narrow-minded. But you need to know that you can't afford to let this pass as merely a 'fairy tale'."

Wesker tilted his head slightly. He glanced at the parchments once more. Although he didn't understand the text, he recognized some numbers scribbled in a corner of one of them as coordinates. "Where do these lead to?"

"To Mr. Belli's castle. He was quite rich."

"I see. I suppose I should pack my bags then, I'm going to Italy."

Hamilton smiled nervously. Wesker did not return it. "I suggest you work with the cure while I'm gone," he said coldly and walked to the door. He placed is hand on the doorknob and added; "If I find out that you are using me or giving me the run around… that is sure to be the last thing you ever do."

Wesker could hear Hamilton swallow behind him. He turned the knob and stepped out of the office, wondering if there was anyone loyal enough to him to be able to keep the doctor on a tight leash and fend off any attempts of a bribe. Just as he rounded a corner, he bumped into an elderly nurse, recognizing her after a few moments.

"Ah, nurse," he greeted. "You're the one taking care of Krauser, am I correct? How is he…?"

* * *


	2. Chapter Two: Departure

**AN: Alrighty-o, 'bout time I continued this. Ouch, new braces… not that I'm complaining, I love them, but ouch! Ahhh, the power of reviews! What else could make me forget showering, eating, writing for hours even though I have exams I should study for, just in the hope of getting one? Sorry about short chapter and the traditional gender-roles in the relationship between Ayla and Ugo, I sort of felt them to be a bit old fashioned. Oh, and sorry about the OC's too, I'll keep them as few as possible.**

* * *

Chapter two: Departure

* * *

The sight of the red car made Fiona's cheeks tighten in a wide smile and she promptly dropped the suitcases as she rushed to greet the couple getting out of it. The man looked at her, a brief moment of surprise crossing his gentle face before he recognized the young woman and opened his arms to welcome her. Fiona threw herself at him, wrapping her frail arms around his body. She smiled and gave him a tender squeeze.

"Well, hello there, stranger!" Ugo chuckled while returning the hug. "It certainly has been a while!" He pulled her firmly away and studied her, a fatherly smile spreading on his lips. "And you keep growing more and more beautiful by every passing day! Just like your mother," he added and sent Ayla a little wink. She laughed and waved his comment off.

"Oh, Ugo, you sly fox," she said, before turning her attention towards Fiona. "Well, what is this? You give your father a hug and not me?" Ayla scolded, with a false hurt tone in her voice. Fiona grinned and embraced her mother, feeling happier than she had been in a long time.

"Much better!" Ayla said after a while, sounding satisfied. Like Ugo, she pulled Fiona away and scrutinized her. "Fiona, dear, you've grown so thin! Are you eating properly?"

Fiona rolled her eyes. "Yes, mother."

Ugo had gone to pick up Fiona's suitcases and came back with a slight smirk on his lips. "Now, now, Ayla, let's wait with bombarding our daughter with 'old-people-nag' until we get home, eh?"

Ayla ignored him. "I hope you remembered to pee. There is a long drive until the next toilet."

Ugo looked amused. "What did I say about waiting?"

"Why, you're a parent, Ugo! It's your _duty_ to nag," Ayla explained, "or else the kids will start rollin' with the gangs, picking out junk-food leftovers between their teeth with folding knives and mugging elderly women by cash dispensers."

Ugo thought about this for a moment. "Yes, Fiona _does_ look the type, doesn't she? I remember when she was little, she never left home without the balaclava and the 9 mm. hidden in her doll's pram, just in case she felt like robbing a bank."

Ayla laughed. "That's our Fiona, alright."

Fiona cleared her throat. "Maybe we should get into the car now?"

Ayla and Ugo quickly threw in their agreements; Ugo then stuffed the suitcases into the trunk with a debatable success, due to Ayla's period of IKEA-addiction and reluctance to throwing what others would consider garbage into the garbage can. "It can come in handy some day," she always used to say. Fiona traced her index finger along the cold metal of the door to the passenger seat before opening it and getting in. The air inside carried the distinct scent of car, the even more distinct scent of a car with a malfunctioned aircondition. The damp heat formed a glistening layer of moist on Fiona's pale skin, droplets of sweat immediately trickling out of its pores in an attempt to cool her down. Fiona pulled her collar and blew down into her shirt before wrenching her jacket off and throwing it away. She glanced out of the window, scrutinizing the various college students chatting and laughing together. The front door was roughly opened, startling Fiona, her father dumping into the seat with a deep sigh, swiftly followed by Ayla gracefully placing herself into the seat next to him.

"Well, that took a while," she teased. Ugo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, sending her a dark glance.

"When will you ever throw that junk away?"

"It's not junk, Ugo. It's furniture."

Ugo opened his mouth to answer, Fiona quickly interrupting him. "So, uh… what's the surprise you're planning?"

"I'd like to know that myself," Ugo said, staring at Ayla in anticipation. She shook her head.

"It wouldn't be much of a surprise if I tell you, would it now?" she said and fiddled with the lock on the safety belt. "All I'll say about that matter is that it is a gift."

"And you can't even tell your dear husband?" Ugo pushed, grinning to Fiona as if ushering her into conspiracy with him against her mother. Fiona raised an eyebrow and returned the grin.

Ayla scoffed. "You always blurt out with surprises! Remember Fiona's ninth birthday party? Remember the guinea pig you bought her? You can't help it! You're a surprise-blurter!"

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"Come on now, that's not fair! At least give me a hint about your surprise? Can she wear it? Can she drive it? Does it bark? Is it shaped like a perfume-bottle? Does it fit into the DVD-player back home?"

Fiona blinked. "We have a DVD-player…?"

Ayla raised her hand and smacked Ugo across the back of his head. "Nice going, surprise-blurter! You just proved my point! No one gets to know anything until Fiona sees the surprise for herself."

Ugo chuckled and turned the car key in its slot. A loud rumbling sound emerged from the engine. "Fine. Be like that."

* * *

Not a soul was present in the quiet sickroom, with the exception of one man in his deepest sleep. Low whispering escaped his charred lips, obscured through the bandage wrapped around his head. He let out a dry cough, subconsciously swallowing the metallic taste that suddenly formed on his tongue. The forlorn silence was spoiled as the squeaky noise of a door opening echoed through the room, soon followed by slow footsteps. The footsteps halted a yard before reaching the bed carrying the sleeping figure. The other, black-clothed man rested his eyes on the damaged patient for a moment before sliding next to him, arching his torso slightly over him.

"Krauser?"

No reaction was seen on the sleeping man, a shaky breath slipping through his lips. Wesker tilted closer to him, sounding far more demanding as he once again said, "Krauser?"

Krauser's hand twitched, his subconscious mind recognizing Wesker's voice. Wesker's cold face softened. "Wake up, Jack."

The mercenary's blue eyes fluttered open, narrowing as they focused on his visitor. He tried to speak, words refusing to form. Wesker raised his hand dismissively, making Krauser cease his efforts and blankly stare at his employer in silence. The pale man pushed the sunglasses farther up his nose bridge, Krauser flinching as he bent close to him with his hand reached out. He bit back a groan at Wesker's touch, his gloved finger feeling the bandage coating Krauser's cheek. Oblivious to his pain, Wesker lifted the bandage slightly, scrutinizing the soldier's blistered skin without any sign of emotion crossing his face.

"Hm. It seems you are healing quite nicely," he stated after a while and pulled himself from the scorched man. "But too slowly I'm afraid."

Krauser blinked in confusion. Wesker looked away, absentmindedly eyeing the tapestry flaking off the walls. "My, we should really get something done about that. Don't you agree?"

The mercenary remained silent. Wesker shifted his eyes to him again, with his head tilted. "I'm leaving on a mission to Italy and I don't think I'll be back in a while. In the meantime I want you to keep an eye on Dr. Hamilton to make sure he doesn't betray me." He paused for a long moment, sucking in a breath. "I'm… ill. I suspect my dear doctor of trying to take advantage of it."

The charred soldier swallowed. Wesker placed his hand on his shoulder, a shallow sign of camaraderie. "I'm telling you this because I trust you and you alone, Jack. Do you trust me?"

A dry whisper emitted from Krauser's throat. He nodded. Wesker removed his hand and straightened himself up. "You must be eager to get out of that hospital bed. I've made something for you."

His gloved hand vanished into his jacket, swiftly fishing out a white plastic box. Krauser's eyes widened as Wesker opened it, presenting a long and slender syringe. The ex-S.T.A.R.S captain picked it out of the box and tapped the needle with his index finger. "This will aid the virus I've already injected into you, speeding up the healing process by 700 percent. Don't worry; it's not the least harmful. I daresay it's quite healthy."

Krauser closed his eyes, feeling something gently brush his right shoulder before it was replaced by a sharp pinprick.

"Sleep well," Wesker's voice purred. Footsteps moved away from his bed, the door's slam ricocheted and died out. Krauser opened his eyes, gluing them to a crack in the ceiling. If there was anything he intended not to do, it was to fall asleep again.

* * *

Fiona rested her head against the window, watching the trees fly past her sight like brown and green flashes of light. Her parents were having a heated discussion as to whether or not they liked their neighbor. Ayla was pro, Ugo was con, Fiona was too bored with their argument to pay attention and pick a side. Her bladder had been protesting for quite a while and she pondered as to how long they were going to drive without stopping. A faint, quivering rumble from her abdomen politely reminded her that she hadn't eaten anything in a while either. She waited for a pause in her parents voices before speaking up.

"Aren't we going to stop soon?"

Ayla looked at her. "Are you hungry?"

"That too."

"We'll reach a restaurant soon," Ugo threw in. "We could all use to stretch our legs."

"Fully agreed," Ayla said, "I can't wait to get out of this car. I'd call a mechanic, but Mr. Fix-It-Yourself is determined to destroy the airconditioner beyond salvation."

Ugo chuckled. "I'm not the one who ruined it in the first place."

Ayla moved closer to him and gave him a light kiss. "I know. I'm just teasing you."

Ugo smiled at her and rested his forehead against hers. "And I love you for it."

She smirked. "Keep your eyes on the road, darling.

"Oh, right."

Fiona puckered her brows. "Look! McDonalds!" She pointed at the large, yellow sign they were closing in on.

"Finally!" Ugo exclaimed, steering the car to the restaurant. Fiona met her mother's eyes in the looking-glass, and she swiftly broke the contact, suppressing a grin; she knew all too well what her worrywart mother felt about the kind of meals McDonald served and her facial expression did nothing to hide it. Ugo cursed about the lack of parking lots and, upon seeing another car closing in on a free spot, he stepped on the pedal, racing the other family to reach it. He smirked in triumph.

"Hah! We showed them! No one beats the Bellis!"

Ayla raised a brow. "That's great, dear. Let's go and get some food."

Fiona opened the door the second her mother had finished the sentence, closing her eyes and gratefully drawing in a deep breath of fresh air. An appalling smell of exhaust fumes slammed into her nostrils, but she didn't care. Freedom at last!

* * *

The chilly wind howled past the pilot's ears as she absentmindedly chewed on a toothpick, her deep brown eyes printing in the impression of the grey, desolate landscape surrounding the tall building. It had become a routine to her before every escort, followed by a silent prayer that she would never have to see any of it again. Mountain stretched far above the ground, as if reaching for heaven, never to be answered, never to be seen. Coated in a shimmery, white layer of the purest snow. Innocence, the woman thought. That's what the white color symbolized. She spat, the toothpick spinning in the air, falling peacefully off the edge of the roof, into oblivion. Bullshit, she thought. Color symbolized nothing. But meant everything. She continued to pore over the scenery, feeling saddened at the sight of the dead trees nestling the compound. The area of death around the massive building was growing and growing by every passing day, no doubt because of the toxic waste the scientists felt free to dump about as they liked. She huffed; they were going to pay for it someday, she knew it. She hoped it. She prayed, for all that still was good and holy in this world, that nature would stop putting up with the cruelty it had been forced to endure by malicious people and defend itself. Her thoughts drifted to her mission, sending a chill down her spine. She was not looking forward to it; that was certain.

"Wesker."

The name slid through her dry lips before she had the time to stop herself. It was uttered with dripping venom, portraying her feelings for the enigmatic man. She remembered the first flight with him. And the second one. And the third one. He would remain completely silent, never making an effort to acknowledge her presence, which would drive her mad and filling her with rage. Once he would get past his overblown ego and saying something, she would spit out sarcastic and malignant replies, usually resulting in a mental game of chess that would last for the rest of the trip. This had never seemed to bother Wesker; in fact, he seemed to quite enjoy it. That had to be the reason he always requested her to be his pilot. Her anger immediately flared up at the thought. Did he think her some sort of a toy? Didn't surprise her, really. Didn't stop her from despising the man, though. But this time, things were going to be different. She was not going to fall victim of his games, never again. She wasn't anybody's toy and this time she was going to prove it. Slow footsteps closed in on her.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, dear heart."

The pilot turned around, clenching her fists as she locked eyes with Wesker. Sleek and elegant as usual, blonde hair slicked back, his left hand clutching the handle of a briefcase. She merely nodded in his direction and walked to the helicopter. As she sat into the familiar seat and brushed her fingers gently against the joystick, she realized how far she was actually going to take him this time. The other man was sitting next to her, drumming his gloved fingers on the briefcase. She refused to look at him and concentrated on getting the engine started. The rotors moved slowly at first, pacing up, whipping up dust, filling her auditory channels with rumbling. They were no longer on solid ground, the force of the wind raising them higher and higher into the air. She sent a glance to Wesker, nearly jumping in her seat as she saw that he was staring straight at her. He smirked.

"Something wrong, dear?"

The pilot grumbled. "Nothing's wrong."

"You don't seem like yourself today."

"Oh, really?" she bit back, her fingers tightening around the joystick. Without a conscious thought, she continued before she was able to stop herself. "I'm so sorry for that, _dear_. You certainly seem like yourself, though; sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Oh, if only she could swallow her words. She glimpsed at him, catching a glint of satisfaction in his face before it disappeared. She couldn't believe how easily she had given in this time. The game was on.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3:All roads lead to Belli castle

**AN: I'm terribly sorry that it has taken my ass so long to update, and… it's not entirely due to writer's block either. To be painfully honest, I've grown quite lazy. Bah. Complaints, complaints. **

**PS; Some facts here are wrong; Fiona woke up in daytime, not nighttime. By the time I found out, I had written too much to be bothered to change it. Sorry.**

Chapter three: All roads lead to Belli Castle

* * *

_The tires screech… such an awful sound…_

_The wall is coming closer… a stack of tree trunks, by the looks of it…_

_We're going fast… too fast… _

_Mom screams…_

_Dad screams…_

_I scream…_

Fiona's eyes dashed open, a loud breath swiftly inhaled through her pale lips as she promptly pulled herself into a sitting position. A droplet of cold sweat trickled down the skin of her cheek, wavering on her jaw for a few moments before its weight caused it to fall down, creating a dark speck on the silky sheet sheathing her bare body.

_My clothes…? _

Frustrated, her mind began its frail attempts at rationalizing the situation, stitching memories together in order to cover the gargantuan black hole present in her reminiscence, leaving her the more bewildered as she shifted her blue gaze to the rusty bars enclosing her.

_A cage…? I'm in a…?_

She stretched her fingers towards them, wrapping them around the cold metal of the bars, inching her face towards them to take the room she was currently in into full perception. The lack of proper light swathed the room in darkness, making it difficult to see. The few square meters the scarce moonlight elucidated contained various racks with brightly pink carcasses tied to them, swaying ominously from side to side. Light glimmered in the blood-spotted steel of butcher knives. Fiona swallowed.

… _Where…? How…? What… happened…?_

She moved her gaze around the room, her breath hitching in her gullet as she noticed a peculiarity about the door to her gritty cage. The padlock was unlocked. In an odd mixture of relief and disbelief, Fiona clutched it, the clumsy fumbling making such clatter that she nervously looked around her to 

make sure no one was within hearing range. It eventually fell with a soft clunk to the stone floor. Fiona opened the door and stumbled out of the cage, her grip on the silky sheet tightening.

She had to get out of there.

Cautiously, like an apprehensive soldier in a field riddled with enemies, Fiona walked forwards, grimacing slightly when pointy pebbles got squeezed into the sole of her foot. As she passed a wooden table, decorated with various chunks of meat, a short and stifled sniff made her freeze. She swiftly turned her head around, fixing her eyes to the gloomy shadow obscuring the floor beneath the table. Her heart paced up against her ribcage as she arched her back towards the source of the noise and stepped towards it, wrinkling her nose slightly at the metallic stench reeking from the thick blood that dripped off the table. White legs appeared into her vision, a ferocious growling sounding from the shadows as a row of teeth came into view. Without warning, it launched itself at her, its heavy body knocking her screaming off balance. Like a flash, it vanished up the stony stairs to the exit.

Fiona blinked perplexed. She rose to her feet, heaving for air as she placed a hand on her chest in attempt at soothing her rapidly thumping heart. An object on the ground attracted her attention. Curious, she bent down to pick it up, quickly able to distinguish it as a collar made of soft leather. Her gaze swept over the golden plate with large letters carved into it.

It was a name.

"Hewie."

Feeling uncertain what to with it, she simply dropped the collar and turned towards the egress. A chilly draft brushed her cheek, making tiny bumps jut all over her skin. Drawing in a deep breath, Fiona slowly ascended the flight of stairs, holding tightly on to her sheet.

Her sole possession at the moment, she thought bitterly. She didn't even have underwear.

_I have to find Mom and Dad. And a decent set of clothes wouldn't be unappreciated either._

The air density increased with every step, causing her skin to moist. As she strode into the dark night, she could feel her jaw drop at the impressive sight of the construction protruding from the ground. It carried a distinct medieval feel too it, either a castle or some kind of a mansion. Fiona continued into what she thought was an old and poorly tended courtyard, jumping slightly at the sudden movement of a crow. As she cursed her skittishness, a distant mechanic rumbling trembled within her auditory channels, increasing in volume with every second. Clamping her hands over her ears, Fiona shifted her gaze to the sky, blinking out dust that was whipped up with the wind created by the sharp rotors of the black helicopter that suddenly entered her view.

Fiona's eyes widened.

Several moments went by that she just stood there, unmoving, frozen on the spot like a pale and rather shocked mannequin.

"Hey!" she cried, flailing her arms towards the helicopter. "Hello! Please! I'm down here, I'm here! Look this way! Please, look this way!"

In spite of her efforts, the black piece of airborne machinery flew over her, literally leaving her in the dust. Disheartened, Fiona lowered her arms, exhaling a deep sigh trough her lips as the helicopter decreased in size and blended in with the dark sky, vanishing from sight.

_Well… it was worth a shot._

Intent on not letting this drawback devour her spirit, Fiona drew in another deep breath, sweeping her eyes over a new flight of stairs leading to a simple, wooden door. A few meters to its left were tall windows, radiating a golden fluorescent light from within, disturbed slightly by an occasional flicker. Fiona could well imagine a warm, comfy chair in front of a vivid fireplace.

Curious, she climbed the first stairway, carefully avoiding all of the little, pesky pebbles randomly dispersed on the stony steps. She could see now that the stairs led to a plateau she deemed a little uninteresting compared to the comfy chair and the fireplace. Starting to feel a little short of breath, she nonetheless hurried up the second staircase and pushed open the door.

Fiona stepped in, letting her eyes wander over the beautifully carved pinewood of the furniture, the painting of a rather handsome young man and an amusingly off-looking TV. The air inside carried a peculiar scent, like a combination between moist rock and xylem sap.

Nothing like home.

The cheery crackling of fire drove her forwards, her attention soon being pulled to another panting. Unlike the other, this man appeared more sinister than noble, the given impression being reinforced by the way his eyes seemed to peer down at Fiona, monitoring her every move. Feeling uncomfortable, she tore her eyes away from it and fixed them to the door out. As her fingers lightly brushed against the knob, she stopped dead in her tracks, a powerful prickling running down her spine, making the fine strands of hair on her neck rise.

_Someone's watching…_

Fiona slowly turned her head around and swiftly back-stepped upon locking eyes with an unfamiliar woman. Her striking thin lips curled into a cold smile as she arched her head slightly, eying Fiona with curiosity. Fiona's immediate thought was that something was wrong with this woman and it was not just the fact that she was purple.

Her face was expertly chiseled, cheek bones high underneath almond, amethyst eyes. Light glimmered in the shimmering, violet locks that curled down her ghastly pale skin, draping her narrow shoulders. A dark emerald maid dress embraced her tall, slender frame.

She was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

It almost seemed unnatural…

"I've gathered some clothes for you," the woman said monotonously, gesturing towards a few threads neatly arranged on a bed. Fiona shunned away as the maid ambled towards the door, movements stiff and robotic.

"… U-uhm," Fiona stuttered, taken aback by the dozens of questions grinding against each other inside her head. "Wait! Don't go!"

The maid went to a halt, returning her lilac gaze to the blonde girl. Fiona hesitated before continuing. "Uhm… excuse me, but where _are _we? And how did I _get_ here?"

The woman fixed her eyes to a point behind Fiona. "Yes, master," she purred, "we will keep her here for a while. I will make sure she stays… comfortable."

Fiona puckered her brows and turned around, facing the painted face of the sinister old man. Without warning, the world dissolved and solidified again, this time inside the wreck of her parents' car.

_My head hurts so badly… there's a man standing outside the window… looking at me…_

A jolt of pain shot up Fiona's knees as she fell to the floor, sucking in shivering breaths upon remembering that she was not inside a car, but in the bedroom of a strange castle. Talking to a strange maid. Slowly, Fiona looked up, sweeping her gaze around in bafflement as the mysterious woman seemed to have disappeared into nothing as suddenly as she had appeared out of nothing. With trembling legs, she got to her feet and walked towards the bed, eyes glues to the peculiar attire the maid had prepared for her. Fiona brushed her fingers gently on its silky fabric.

_At least my desire for clothes was granted… _

* * *

The castle had been quite a remarkable view and fit Wesker's expectations to a tee. Whether or not there was something of interest on the inside was left to be debated. Achieving a decent landing spot had proven a more difficult task than either of them had foreseen, but after a little searching they decided to ground the helicopter on a small, open field just outside a forest nestling the castle.

Wesker shot the pilot an amused glance over his sunglasses as he outfitted himself with the necessary equipment. "Are you alright? You have been squirming in your seat for an hour."

She had refused to talk to him only minutes into the flight, which Wesker thought was to the better as he himself had been too quick on the temper lately to take her sweet, sarcastic stings lightly. She sent him a weary glare. "I really have to pee," she muttered, shifting her weight on the seat.

Wesker arched a brow. "Didn't you go before we left?"

"Well, seeing as I am someone who has gotten by in life _without_ the aid of viral witchery, my bladder probably needs more tending than yours," she spat.

"Run into the woods, then," Wesker said, somewhat irritated. "The forest ought to be a decent substitute."

"That just grosses me out."

"Do as you like," Wesker replied and adjusted the radio in his hear, tapping it lightly. As he turned his back to her, he added, "but don't fly too far away, I want you near if anything happens."

"Go to hell."

The pilot yelped in surprise as Wesker zipped around and caught her throat in an iron hold. Gagged rasping sounded from her esophagus as his clutch tightened mercilessly and she began flailing and thrashing against his grip, to no avail.

Wesker tilted his head. "I've always found your snappiness to be rather charming, but your disrespectful attitude towards me is starting grow tiring. I suggest that you stop it."

He released her and slid out of his seat, ignoring her coughs and gasps for air. Grass and dry leaves crunched under the sole of his shoes as Wesker sauntered up the slope to the forest. Inattentively, he readjusted the radio, a dark shadow looming over his mind. Somewhere on the inside, the virus that had returned him to life was now twisting and bending his cells, turning his body into his most deadly enemy yet. And all hope left was in the incoherent babble of a madman. Quite ironic, Wesker thought, that he should be the one to suffer such a fate. He had no time for death; there were still goals to be reached.

Buzzing and scraping from the radio pulled him from his thoughts, the static forming words too obscure to interpret.

"Who is this?"

"_It's Krauser!"_

Wesker laced his tone with a pleasant surprise. "Ah, Krauser. You're out of your bed, I presume? How did you like the aid-virus that I gave you?"

"_I'm feeling much better. Thank you."_

"No need to thank me," Wesker said, ducking under a thick branch of a tree. "Tell me, how is Hamilton?"

"_Guy nearly pissed his pants when I knocked on his door," _Krauser's voice answered, dripping with contempt. _"You must have given him quite a scare."_

"Good. Now he has the motivation needed to keep himself busy."

"_You know, there's something we need to talk about."_

"Really? And what is that?"

"_Spain."_

A crease formed on Wesker's forehead as he raised his eyebrows. "We've been through this, Krauser."

"_I'm not doubting your decision-making skills, but why do you keep _her _in your employ after what she has done?"_

"Ada Wong is one of the best," Wesker replied simply, jumping over a small brook that slithered in between the trees.

"_I could have dealt with Saddler myself."_

"He knew what you were up to. Ada provided the distraction necessary."

"_Yeah, but she is not trustworthy. You could've sent another one. Like that Steve-guy or the blonde woman."_

"'That Steve-guy' is mentally extremely unstable," Wesker remarked, "and unpredictable. Deploying him would be certain failure. And Sherry is not a disposable agent; she is not trained to be one, meant to be one, built to be one. Despite your fancy of her, I'm afraid she'll never become your new comrade."

Krauser seemed taken aback. _"I have no idea what you're talking about."_

"I am no fool, Krauser, you wear your emotions on the outside."

"_I am not attracted to kids."_

"If you say so."

Krauser grumbled. _"Well, at least she's not a treacherous bitch."_

"Is that what it takes to win your heart, Krauser?" Wesker mused, his slender lips coiling into a smile. "I must say, you are being very harsh towards Ada."

An incensed snort sounded from the radio. _"Harsh? Oh, I'm not being harsh enough. Not by a long shot."_

"What do you mean?"

"_The Sample is a fake."_

Wesker halted.

"_There was no evidence of any biological traces after the Plaga. Just a fancy purple liquid. And guess what; the rat has escaped the building. She's nowhere to be found."_

Wesker felt nothing but a strange void in his chest, slightly resembling fatherly disappointment. She was her own woman with her own agenda, and thus the kind that could never be trusted, but she did owe him her life. She knew it, he knew it, and he had never let her forget it. Nevertheless, the second he had turned his back on her, she had plunged a dagger deeply into his spine. So openly betrayed him without a speck of shyness.

A fuming heat flickered to life, prickling under the skin of Wesker's stone-cold visor. The corners of his mouth began to quiver with fury as a coat of red shaded his vision, his gloved hand clenching into a trembling fist.

"_Wesker?" _muttered Krauser's gruff voice, sounding uncertain. _"Are you there?"_

"Yes," Wesker replied quietly, inwardly stomping out the blazing fire.

"_I can take care of her."_

The black-clothed man remained silent.

"_Just give me the order and I'll kill her."_

Wesker hesitated. For a moment he felt lost, like a little child stumbling in the dark. "She nearly killed _you _the last time the two of you met."

"_I was weak," _Krauser retorted. _"I underestimated her. Played with her. That won't happen again. This time I'll make short work and finish her off. Though looking back on it, I can almost swear that __there was some kind of divine hand that took control of her and Leon. There is no way in hell they could have come through what they did in one piece otherwise."_

"Really?" Wesker said in a surprised amusement. "And this divine hand is lacking now?"

"_You can mock me all you want, but -"_

"It is indeed a generous offer, Krauser," Wesker cut him off, "but I need you to watch Hamilton. Besides, I want Ada alive, and I feel you may be a little too emotionally involved to be fitting for that kind of a mission."

"_Need her alive? What for?"_

"I want that Sample," Wesker murmured, raising his hand in front of his face. "And that prying Organization out of the way. I'm going to achieve both. One way or another."

"_You'll never get her to talk."_

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

That marked the end of the conversation for Wesker and the scarred mercenary. He continued up a narrow path, jumping over menacing roots protruding from the soil. Sooner than he had anticipated, the gray crown of Belli Castle gleamed over the thin branches that speared up into the air. As he closed in, he soon found the wall to be too tall for even him to jump over. Figures. His luck had been questionable lately.

_I need to find another way…_

His sharp eyes swept over the stony exterior, soon fixing on some unusually thick twines of plants that clustered themselves together and climbed up the wall.

_Bingo._

Wesker scurried to them, curling his gloved fingers around the sturdiest-looking cord. With ease, he pulled his slender body upwards, worrying slightly about the green stains the plant generously left on his unblemished suit. After spending a few minutes scaling the wall, he reached the top and hauled himself over the edge, letting himself plummet to the ground. A stifled groan escaped his lips as he heavily landed on his feet. Standing from his position, he could feel his ankle protest. Ignoring the minor ache, though making himself a mental note of it, he sauntered forwards, stepping over remains and stone rubble of a tiny wall. In front of him were three immediate options; either continuing to the door nestled in between four statues of young women, or going through the walkway to the left, or, if he felt like breaking a sweat, bursting through the locked iron gate.

Deciding that he couldn't be bothered, Wesker chose the pathway and steered left. His way was illuminated by ill-circuited lamps that seemed a stark contrast to the medieval appearance of the castle. As he stepped into a small area containing nothing but a barred up well and a few dispersed strands of grass, he was presented with another two alternatives. Again, he ignored the door-option and opted for the tall plateau with no means of accessing other than a slightly fragile ladder and a demolished stairway. When he got close enough to brush dust off the wall, he arched his back and leg and jumped, shooting upwards, his feet gracefully hitting the surface of the ground. Adjusting a crease on his suit, Wesker continued to a new door, sighing inwardly at feeling something bar it. He took a step back, jutted his shoulder out and thrust himself forwards.

The door splintered to pieces as Wesker rammed through it, into something that was immediately knocked off balance, the rough impact at meeting the floor so hard that it rocked the castle, nearly making Wesker topple over. A quick glance revealed that something to be a massive, disproportionate statue consisting of dense and parched soil. Wesker cocked his head.

"Wops."

He strode over it and into a small room, moving his gaze around the new room. Golden flames sputtered eagerly from a fireplace underneath a black pot emitting a violet smoke with a rather peculiar scent. In front of him was a table adorned with various test tubes, an antique weight and blue bounded books.

_Much appropriate for an alchemist, I reckon._

A parchment, ruffled and yellow in the edges, attracted Wesker's attention. As he extended his arm towards it, gleeful grunts sounded from the neighboring area. Rapid, heavy footsteps thumped after a pair of lighter ones, leaving Wesker intrigued. As the parchment dropped on his priority list, he went to open the exit door, only achieving an inch gap as the door resisted. Forcing the door open, Wesker stepped into a hallway, passing a metal crate that had blocked the path. A doll was sprawled on the floor before his feet, its plastic skin smudged and deformed, framed by knots of unruly hair, stiff from caked grime. The dress clothing it was tarnished, suspicious brown specks of dirt tainting the once pink fabric. Curious, Wesker plucked it up, twitching his lips with disgust as a foul stench slammed into his nostrils.

A terrified, shrill gasp cut through the air to his ear channels. Wesker looked up, catching a glimpse of a colossal figure vanishing around a corner. Still with a tight clutch on the doll, Wesker paced up, dashing like a black blur through the hallway, passing plant-nuzzled pillars and buzzing lamps. He darted around a turn, through two doors – a screech emitting from his shoes as he halted an inch in front of a hefty man. Hulking arms hung limp next to a massive torso supported by a pair of stumpy legs. Blotches of blood and dirt stained the white garb stuck into simple, calf-long pants. Two round, brown eyes peered down at Wesker from a face with childlike traits.

They stared at each other in silence, disturbed only by deep, wheezing breath puffed out from the bizarre child-man's lips. With a tilted head, Wesker reached out the hand clasping the doll. "This is yours, I presume?"

The child man moved his gaze to it, an incoherent babble rasping from his throat, soon dying out. With a pudgy index finger directed at the doll, a single understandable word was gurgled out; "Dolly."

"Indeed," Wesker replied, his patience abbreviated drastically. "Take it."

The other more or less sentient being reacted by shooting Wesker a blank stare. A dark shade crossed the blonde man's face; his tolerance towards children in any size was fairly limited.

"Fine," Wesker said, flinging the doll to the floor. The child-man's head slowly turned towards the toy, wavering on the spot. A deep inhale through his lips was quickly exhaled in a horrendous shriek as he fell to his knees, raising meaty, quivering hands in shock. Wesker blinked in surprise and seized the opportunity to peek under the bed present in the room. As expected, a pair of slender, booted legs gleamed to him from the shadows. A distressed gasp sounded from underneath the bed as Wesker grabbed the woman by her ankle and hardheartedly hauled her into the light. He clutched her upper arm, pulling her with him with a gruff "move".

As they entered the room with the alchemist equipment, he let go of her and she fell to her knees, panting heavily. Wesker watched her in stillness as she regained her stamina and rose to her feet. Cerulean eyes glimmered from under striking blonde locks of her bangs.

"Th-thank you so much," the pale, young woman whispered. "You saved me from that… that _thing_…"

Wesker cocked a brow. "Yes. And now I want something in return."

She blinked and stuttered. "Wh-what? I... I don't have anything."

"Where is Aureolus belli?"

The woman's eyes turned blank with confusion. "…Who?"

Wesker took a threatening step towards her, making her shun away, her face lined with fear. "Aureolus. Lorenzo. Belli. _Where is he?"_

Her lips trembled. "I… I don't know what you're talking about… I was… uh… I…"

Wesker turned his back on her, not wishing to hear any more incoherent rant. No old alchemist meant no life-saving Azoth, and if that woman was sincere, she really did not know what he was talking about. Then again, she could likely be a treacherous wench underneath her innocent appearance, but Wesker had no remaining patience to stay and find out. As he sighed he decided he was going to pluck the whole castle apart in search for the Azoth and dispose of Hamilton if he returned to America with empty hands. "I apologize. It was not my intention to frighten you."

Wesker stepped towards the hallway, halting at the sound of the woman's voice.

"Where are you going?" asked the unfamiliar girl, her pale hand reached out, as if she subconsciously attempted to physically prevent Wesker from leaving.

"To find Aureolus Belli," Wesker answered simply, not bothering to turn around and look at her. "Wherever he may be."

He had barely taken a step forwards, as the young woman's voice again claimed his attention. "Uhm… can you… can you take me with you?"

This time Wesker span around to face her, eyebrow arched and an amused trait about his thin lips. "Take you with me? Why would I do that?"

She batted her eyelids, seeming oddly flummoxed by his question. "I… I need help… I was… uh…"

Wesker could see signs of an internal battle on her insipid face, as if she desired to break eye contact but did not manage to. "I… I was in the car with my parents… and… I must have… I… I was taken here… against my will…"

"Against your will, you say?"

"Y-yes."

"Ah," Wesker said, moving his gaze over her oddly clad figure. "And I presume that your 'kidnappers' stripped you completely of your casual clothes, forcing you to grab the first custom-tailored outfit within your reach?"

She opened her mouth to answer, her voice hitching in her throat, leaving her gawking at him in bewilderment. "Are you… are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all, dear," Wesker replied and twirled on his heel, sauntering towards the wooden door.

"My name is Fiona…"

Wesker stopped in his tracks.

"… Fiona Belli. What's yours?"

Cocking his chin upwards, he hesitated for a few moments before answering, "Wesker. Albert Wesker."

Wishing to end the conversation, he strolled into the hallway, tapping his index finger on the radio.

"Krauser? Put Hamilton on the line, we have a matter I'd like to discuss…"

* * *


End file.
